Feral
by Maidenhair
Summary: The story of how Erik first came to the opera movie version.
1. Chapter 1

Feral Chapter 1. Disclaimer: I do not own POTO 

The crowd of gypsies sped in pursuit as I led the boy away from the carnival. His cold, thin hand trembled in mine. To his bruised chest he clutched his shabby toy, pressing it close as small babes so when in fear. He seemed confused and I had to use all my force to drag him along the streets. I racked my mind on where I would hide him. Most anyone who saw his twisted face would throw him back into the gutter.

I dashed down the Rue Scribe. Standing like a great, dark titan was the opera. In desperation I flung open a sewer grate and helped the boy into the cellars. He looked at me from behind the sack he wore as a mask. His eyes were puzzled and frightened.

"Stay here." I whispered.

He nodded and I closed the grate. Swiftly I sped up the steps to the opera house. The gypsies shouted outside, wondering where we had escaped. It didn't matter now; we _had_ escaped.

The next morning I awoke early from my room in the opera dormitories. I dressed and searched about for some supplies for the boy. I took a blanket, my extra bed pillow, and I took a shirt and a pair of boots from a crate of unneeded costumes. The clothes would be too large, but they would keep him warm. I felt a twinge of guilt as I wondered how the boy had slept in the cold cellars as I had lain comfortably above.

I removed a few coins from my wages and hurriedly visited a near-by cafe to buy a few rolls and some chocolate for the boy's breakfast. Then I opened the grate and entered the darkness of the opera catacombs.

"Boy!" I called, "Come out! It's me, the one who help you last night! I've brought some food and clothes for you." There was no answer, and I began to fear that he might have frozen to death, or fallen in the underground lake and drowned, or even left the cellars and ran away.

"Can you hear me?" I called, "Are you alright?"

A hand tapped my shoulder and I squealed in surprise. The boy was standing behind me. He looked startled by my cry, and flinched as I raised my hand to greet him.

"Oh, there you are!" I sighed in relief, "Are you alright? Were you too cold?"

He made no response, and simply stared at me from behind his mask.

"I brought you some things." I said gently, holding out my gifts.

The boy continued to gaze at me in a mistrusting way and made no move to take the presents.

"I'm not going to hurt you." I said slowly, wondering if he was an idiot and unable to comprehend his situation. "Look, I have some nice food for you. And I have some clothes so you won't be so cold. I have some things for you to sleep in too." I held the gifts closer to him. He shuddered and pulled away.

The boy was beginning to irritate me! He didn't seem to understand that I was trying to help him. I reached out my hand and tried to pull him towards the gifts. He flinched again, but allowed me to place the offerings in his arms.

We sat down, and I helped him sort through the things I had brought. I told him to put on the shirt and boots, which he did. He looked comical in them, for they were terribly large and were meant for an opera set in the fifteenth century. After he finished dressing I helped him find a suitable spot for him to make a bed. Once the bed was made I told him to eat. He did nothing that he was not instructed to do.

He turned his back to me while he ate, so that he could uncover his face. I looked closely at him. His hair was long and dark, matted with dirt, sweat, and possibly blood. His neck was caked in dirt, and every part of him that was revealed by the oversized shirt was marked with bruises and scars. His body was as emaciated as it was injured, and he proved that he was half starved by devouring the food I brought within seconds after I gave it to him. When he was through eating he reached again for his mask.

"You don't have to wear that, if you don't want to." I said gently. He paused for a moment, but pulled the mask on anyway. Then he turned to me, not daring to look me in the eyes.

"I won't hurt you, you know." I reassured. I spoke slowly, and with clear syllables, because I was sure that he was mentally incompetent. "My name is Lauret Giry, what's yours?"

He stared at me.

"Can you speak?" I asked.

He nodded slowly.

"Then, do you have a name?" I asked.

He nodded his head again.

"Will you tell me?" I spoke in my most coaxing voice that I might use for a small child.

The boy said nothing.

"Did you like your food?" I asked, hoping that I could get him to talk.

He nodded vigorously. Poor fellow. I thought. He probably hadn't eaten in days.

"Do you have a family?" as questioned.

He nodded, and his body tensed at the subject.

"Where are they?" I demanded, hoping that I could confront the people who had abandoned their child to such foul individuals as the freak show owners.

He looked at the ground and still refused to speak.

"Won't you speak to me?" I pleaded, taking his hand, "I want to help you."

A long, sorrowful sight emanated from behind his mask and he shook his head no.

**So I've shocked everyone by writing something serious? Anyway, that's the first chapter. Should I continue or delete it off the face of the earth?**

The word Idiot was used to mean a person who had mental disabilities. It's not politically correct, but it's historically accurate. 

**Dear everyone, I am VERY busy and do not have much time to write fics because I am trying to get a novel published. I will write some though. Ta-ta. M.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: Sadly, no. 

_Author's note: It appears that A/N are now illegal. However, I am part of a protest against that. Anyway, I will say, however, that I will double the Ts in Giry's name, and yes Giry would be an appropriate last name. People in those times often married their cousins and wot not. It was a common practice for poorer girls, because then they could still keep their homes in their family. Ok, that's all._

I spent my morning with the boy, but had to leave for my ballet lessons. I tried to reassure him that I would come back, and that he would be safe. He simply gazed at me with his same mistrusting, unreadable expression. He reminded me of a wild animal, like a feral kitten. I had once found a kitten starving in an alley, and had tried to take care of it. It had behaved much like the boy until it grew to trust me.

I put out my hand and laid it against the boy's bruised shoulder. He flinched and shuddered. "You'll be safe," I whispered gently, "I'll be back as soon as my lessons are over. I'll bring some more food, also."

He looked at me warily, glancing from my hand to my face. I noticed that he never once made eye contact, and kept his gazed fixed no higher that my mouth.

"Good bye," I said, getting up. I felt guilty leaving him alone, but if I didn't attend my lessons I wouldn't be able to dance. Then neither of us would have a home. Nevertheless, I still glanced back at him several times as I walked away. The boy curled up on top of the blanket like a cat, shivering silently. I hoped he wasn't cold, and resolved to take him a few more things that evening.

I hurried up the stairs from the cellars and entered the world of light. It astonished me how people could go about their daily lives while people like the boy in the cellar were beaten and treated horrendously. What was worse was that some of the people who lived 'above' had see the boy and had joined in tormenting him. How those people could continue their lives with no feelings of guilt was beyond my comprehension.

I hurried to dress, but when I reached the ballet studio I was still late. The instructor, Madame Nicoline Norelli, glared at me, and chided my tardiness. Some of the other ballet girls giggled and shot me mocking glances. I shuddered, remembering their taunting laughter at the fair as the watched the gypsy man beat the boy.

"Are you deaf?" Madame Norelli asked, "To your position."

I walked quickly and joined the other dancers, continuing to block out their snubs and glances. The Madame Norelli began to tap out the rhythm for our dance: _one-and-a-two-and-a-three-and-a-four_. The dance was in allegro, and our steps had to be swift and light to keep in time with the speed. Several of the younger girls slipped out of step and were scolded. Though I knew I should not succumb to the of pride, I couldn't help but gloat at how poorly all those stuck up girls danced. They looked like puppets! _However fine they may think they are now,_ I thought, _it will be the people whom they hold in disdain that they will out do them in the end. _

Once our first routine was practiced, went over, and corrected numerous times we were allowed a rest. I was most thankful, for, because I arrived late, I had missed the warm-ups and stretches, and my joints ached terribly. I sat with Gertilline, Ninon, and Kassandré to do my stretches and rest. Gertilline and Kassandré were my only friends in the class. Ninon wasn't nearly as nice, and was often a gossip, however, she was Gertelline's half-sister and had to stay with us.

Normally I felt comfortable with my friends, but after the fair I felt strange. I had thought of them –or at lease Gertilline and Kassandré- as good, kind girls. I knew they had their faults, yes. Gertilline, or Gerti, had been known to play the dice and Kassandré drank. But I had never expected them to stoop so low as to mock a defenseless person, and laugh at their torture. I felt a sense of betrayal as I listened to their playful banter; I felt like I had somehow joined those who had hurt the boy –_my_ boy. I felt possessive about him, like a mother owl. I felt the strong need to defend him. He was, in a sense, mine. He had no known family –none that cared for him- he just had me. The thought that I was resting in the company of people who didn't care if he was hurt or mistreated sickened me.

"What's the matter, Laurette?" Kassandré asked as she reset her long, auburn hair into a tight knot.

"Yes, Laurie," Gerti added, "you haven't said a word all day, and you were late for practice. What's going on?"

"She slipped out this morning with a blanket and her pillow," Ninon stated prissily.

"What?" Gerti exclaimed.

"Now what would that be for?" Kassandré asked.

"Yes, you _must_ tell us!" Ninon pressed, hoping for a bit of gossip to share.

"It's a boy isn't it?" Gerti said.

"Oh, yes!" Ninon squealed, "Tall, dark, older..."

"No, Laurie's not like that," Kassandré interrupted, "It's more probable that she's helping a spy or a criminal hide. You know how Laurie's always off getting into adventures! Who is it Laurie, we promise not to tell!"

"Oh, yes we promise!" Gerti begged.

Ninon didn't promise anything. I knew that whatever I said would be passed around the entire ballet academy by the next day if she had anything to do with it. She looked at me greedily, like at rat. Her beady eyes glittered hungrily and she twisted a lock of her golden hair in her chubby fingers.

I stiffened, "I don't think I want to share my secrets with people who laugh at other people when they are hurt!" I said hotly.

"Oh, Laurie, I didn't laugh at you today!" Gerti said in a hurt tone, "I'm your best friend, I never laugh at you!"

"I didn't laugh at you either!" Kassandré agreed.

"And I was, um, laughing at someone else!" Ninon lied.

"I didn't mean me!" I replied, "I meant when we were at the fair."

"And when did this alleged laughter happen?" Ninon asked sarcastically, using most of her vocabulary in one sentence.

"You know very well when!" I snapped, "You all laughed when that poor boy in the cage was being beaten!"

"What boy in a cage?" Ninon asked.

"The one they called the 'Devil's Child'. That poor boy!" I answered, "You all laughed when that evil man was beating him. I couldn't believe that you all could be so cruel!"

"Oh, so Mademoiselle Santa Laurette is here to free the world from cruelty!" Ninon said, rolling her eyes, "I can't believe what a goody you are! What a muff!"

"Clam up, you!" Gerti snapped. She turned to me, "Oh, I'm sorry if we offended you, Laurie."

"I'm not!" Ninon muttered.

"Be quiet!" Kassandré commanded.

Gerti continued, "But you see, Laurie, it's not like we were watching a _real_ person get hurt. I mean, none of us would ever watch someone hurt a _real_ person. But, Laurie, you saw it. It's an animal. It's not as if it can think or has a soul or anything."

"Yes, and you have no _morality issues_ about bull fights and cock matches!" Ninon exclaimed.

"See?" it was Kassandré who spoke now, "It's now the most civilized of entertainment, but it is still amusing."

"Speaking of which, did you see how that freak rolled over when the keeper hit it?" Ninon asked, giggling, "As if turning over could help!"

"It seemed more concerned for that stuffed rag it was holding that anything!" Gerti said.

I felt my stomach turn. How could my friends be so blind? I wouldn't put it below Ninon to find torture funny, but Gerti and Kassandré seemed swept along with the vile 'amusement' too.

"I don't agree with you at all!" I cried, "Anyone could see that he was a person! His face was hurt, that's all! And it's wrong for you all to think that his pain was entertaining!"

"Oh, come now, Laurie!" Kassandré coaxed, "Don't get all saintly on us. You probably thought it was funny, also."

"I did not!" I said, clenching my fists in frustration, "And he is a person, not an animal! There are even saints who were deformed. Margaret of Castello was a hunchback!"

"Don't be so sickeningly Catholic!" Gerti groaned, tossing her black hair. Normally my Catholicism was Gerti's only complaint against me; she was an avid Calvinist.

"You know, I would bet that it was to that freak that Laurie was bringing the blanket and things. After all, it would have taken her all morning to have gotten down to the fair and back in time to dress," Ninon smirked as she spoke.

Gerti gasped, "You didn't! Not all alone in the streets of Paris!"

"Calm down, Gerti," Kassandré interrupted, "I read in the newspaper today that the freak killed it's owner and was perused into the river where it drowned. Its body was pulled out blue as Briton. Laurie couldn't have been helping it!"

I was startled at Kassandré's words. I knew that the gypsies would have had to tell the press something, and probably wouldn't want the upper-class people who already despised them to know that they had let a "killer" slip past them. However, my heart thudded as I wondered what other poor 'dispensable' life had been destroyed to cover for this lie.

"So, who was the person you helped?" Gerti asked.

I thought quickly, racking my brains for a plausible excuse.

"Laurette Giry!" Madame Norelli's voice broke my train of thought, "Are you deaf? How many times must I call you?"

"Yes, Madame?" I asked.

"It seems you have an important opportunity ahead of you," She replied.

**Ok, that's that! Tell me how you like it. I am trying to capture the psychological trauma that Erik must have been going through. Also, please note my various animal analogies, (there by the Title: Feral). There will be more of those. Ta-ta.**

**M.**


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